Terminus est nox noctis
by Evil-Little-Leprechaun
Summary: The end is nigh. Drabbles and deleted moments from Supernatural, that could have occurred but didn't, due to the absence of a certain few key points. And a certain few OCs. Horror and serious situations - if you squint, and tilt your head to one side...
1. Hate

**I thought I'd try my hand at one-word-prompt drabbles, rather than rest up so I don't fall asleep and get trampled on at slave camp - I mean, work experience - tomorrow.**

**Meh, who needs sleep?**

**I don't own Supernatural. I do, however, own my OCs and this spectacular milkshake. Mm... Milkshake...**

**Enjoy.**

**Yours Insanely,**

**{E~L~L}**

**PS: No, you can't have my milkshake. Stop staring! Go buy your own!**

**

* * *

**

Hate

* * *

"I hate you."

Gabriel smirked. He was used to hearing those words; since deciding to join Team Free Will and help out the Winchesters, that particular combination of words had been shot in his direction practically on a daily basis. He cracked open an eye from his place on the sofa to see Dean glaring at him, and smirked some more. Yup, he'd definitely noticed the Impala's mysterious change of paint from dark green to bright pink, with a touch of Hello Kitty decor for the interior.

"I know."

* * *

"I hate you."

Sam, this time. Gabriel didn't even bother cracking open an eye, and merely made himself more comfortable on the only bed in the motel room, adding spikes to the top of the kiddy's gate in the doorway where the younger Winchester was standing - and, after a moment's deliberation, a pacifier for the glaring human's moving mouth. He didn't need the bed, technically - it wasn't like he needed to sleep, and fortunately for the Winchesters he didn't swing that way - but just for kicks... He'd do it to piss them off. Just like old times.

"I know."

* * *

" I hate you. "

Stated simply and coolly - despite the certain shock and embarressment that his very inappropriate timing had stirred up - Liath Gaineamh, AKA Grey Sand merely picked up her waiting towel from the rack, wrapped it around her dripping frame, and stalked out of the bathroom with an air of dignity that made him grin.

"I love you too, cupcake," he called after her teasingly. Oh, the Possession was great fun to poke at, despite her self-control and amazing poker face.

It did cross his mind whether he was truly going somewhere with this, or whether he just wanted to see how many people he could get to say those three words to his face in one weekend.

* * *

"... I'm gonna rip out your insides..."

Gabriel turned around and took in the fangs, the two-clawed hooves, the crackles of electricity in the surrounding air, the sheer power emanating from the shackinjira.

He considered whether he'd taken things too far this time by replacing Nidenski's mints with laxatives.

The laxatives hadn't even worked, but who knew that a steady suger intake was the only thing keeping the Rogue Steed's homicidal impulses in check? He tried to keep up an unworried and flippant attitude as the beast took a menacing step forward, snaking his head down and lowering his jaw.

"Well... That's a new one." Gabriel tried, with a slightly nervous smile, to stop from stepping back as Nidenski took another step forward.

"Uh, Grey? Niden's not looking so good." 'Not looking so good' was an understatement; if the croatoan virus could have hit shackinjiras, Gabriel would have been convinced that Nidenski was infected. The beast was practically frothing at the mouth.

No answer from Grey. In fact, the suite they'd booked was suspiciously quiet. As the rabid Blood Steed slowly backed him into a corner, Gabriel tried again to call out.

"Sam? Dean? Guys, a little help!"

The air was crackling with electricity, and the lights flickered before cutting out entirely. The whole place was pitched into darkness, until all he could see were those murderous bloody crimson eyes glowing against the black.

"So... I guess you really hate me right now, don't you?"

Shit. The shackinjira was so going to kill him.


	2. BONUS CHAPTER: Impulsive

**A special chappie, this; just a little something for a good friend of mine. Happy B-day, Obsessor! This isn't my preferred topic to write about, so it may seem a little light for all you cake-loving fans, but I couldn't go into further detail without serious risk of death-by-obscene-mental-imagery. **

**WARNING: OC, kissing and Dean shirtless. **

**Who says I can't keep promises?**

**Enjoy. **

**Yours Insanely,**

**{E~L~L}**

"I can't believe this..."

Party games were fun. Drinking and flirting, laughter all round; sure, it was right up Dean's alley.

This, however, was not.

Locked in a broom cupboard with a foul-mouthed – if rather cute – pink-haired young woman for seven minutes, where it was stuffy and cramped and dark... Definitely not the best outcome of his plan to combine Spin The Bottle with Truth or Dare. Don't get him wrong, being locked in a room with a good looking girl was usually a situation he didn't mind at all; but that was because he usually assumed he'd have a lot longer than seven minutes.

And a bed.

"Shut your pie-hole, Dean - accept reality, and move on. Since we're obviously not getting out for a goddamn while, how do you want to pass the fucking time so we don't both fucking die of boredom?"

Dean nearly jumped at the clearness of woman's sharp voice – she had an odd alias and the mouth of a sailor, but apart from that he didn't actually know much about her - which served as a further reminder of their unusually close proximity.

"Uh..."

He considered, cringed, struggled with the words, then finally sighed and spoke up.

"Wanna make out?"

The elder Winchester then braced himself for the almost-certainty of a profanity-filled rejection. He was rather pleasantly shocked at Obsessor's oddly – but wasn't everything about her odd? - calm response.

"Okay."

"Oh, cool then – wait, what?"

He stared at the pink-haired anomaly.

"You're actually okay with - "

Dean was cut off by her warm, soft lips crushing against his own. Reflexively he kissed back, returning her confident advances with enthusiasm; unlike Leprechaun, who was sexually extinct and completely uninterested in intimacy of any kind, or Hat, who spent most of her time keeping both of them from doing something overly radical and stupid, Obsessor seemed to know what she wanted and how to get it. Was she always this pushy? Was he always this contemplative when making out?

Less thinking, more kissing.

When they finally separated in order to breathe, Dean noticed that – along with the fact that his shirt had rather mysteriously vanished - it had definitely been over seven minutes and when he pointed that out, he was intrigued by Obsessor's rather naughty smirk.

" Fifty bucks says Lep decided to block the doorway with all of Bobby's furniture."

Dean snorted at that and moved in for another kiss.

"You're on. That's impossible. She couldn't even move the sofa."

He could feel her lips part further in a knowing grin, and took advantage of the opening. Obsessor laughed into his mouth and knotted a hand in his hair.

"Nothing's impossible with that nutcase."

Dean pulled her closer, suddenly thoughtful.

"So..."

"We've got at least forty fucking minutes."

"You planned this, didn't you."

"Yup. Road-trip bribe works every time."

And so it was that Dean decided that Seven Minutes in Heaven was officially his favourite party game ever. Especially when a certain pink-haired hunter and her radical friends were staying over.


	3. Group Activity

Dean had no idea what had possessed him to consider that playing tennis with a demonic friggin' horse and its jockey, an angel of the Lord, an ex-demon-blood junkie and the Kind of the Crossroads would be a perfectly acceptable way to pass a Wednesday afternoon.

"No - Cas! You have to hit the ball with your racket!"

The trenchcoat-wearing angel looked rather lost as Sam attempted to teach him the basics of one of the world's most well-known - of not most well-liked - sports. Crowley rolled his eyes, declared the whole thing to be a waste of time and vanished; or at least, he would have vanished, if Grey had not accidentally pointed out that they needed the demon to have equal teams. Nidenski had then decided to ensure Crowley couldn't leave.

" Bloody Hell! Grey, get this beastly creature off of me!"

Dean facepalmed.

"For crap's sake... Just let him go, Nidenski. I'll sit out." There was an additional muttering about needing a beer that did not go unnoticed. Nidenski looked to his Possession for confirmation, who sighed.

" We can't force people to play, Night. And tackling others to the ground isn't nice, remember? Let's hope you haven't ruined his suit."

The Blood Steed gave a mutinous inhuman growl, but stood up and picked up his racket nonetheless. Crowley glared, got to his feet and brushed himself off before disappearing. Sam attempted to get the game back on track.

"Okay, so it's a game of doubles, then. Me and Cas against you and Nidenski, okay?"

Grey nodded and got into position. Cas just looked even more lost and just stood where he was, looking at the racket in his hands and clearly unsure of how to wield it. Nidenski paced back and forth in a decidedly predatory fashion, his eyes never leaving the ball in Sam's hand. Dean opened another bottle of beer.

"Serving!"

The ball became airborne, speeding in Grey's direction. Before the Possession could even swing, however, Nidenski flickered in front of her and caught the potential threat with one hand, crushing it to a useless pulp in a single movement.

Grey smacked his shoulder.

"Night! You broke the ball! Sam, I hope you've got another one."

Sam nodded, fishing the ball out of his pocket and offering it to Castiel this time.

"Here, You try. Just do what I did, and if Grey or Niden hits it you want to hit it back. Okay?"

Cas nodded seriously, and took the ball. Nidenski watched it come, then met it with a cracking wallop with his racket - a bemused Grey stopped mid-swing to glare at his back. Cas saw his chance and appeared less than a metre away to hit it back; at the increased velocity Nidenski reacted reflexively and destroyed it as he had with the first one.

"Night!"

"No, Cas, you're supposed to stay on this side of the net!"

Not long afterwards, an irritable shackinjira and a confused angel joined the demon in the house. Dean continued to destroy his liver on the sidelines.


	4. Evolution

**Short one, this time. Short, but sweet.**

**This idea has been niggling at my mind for weeks; at Obsessor's oh so 'polite' form of 'requesting' me to upload it, I've finally sat my rear end down and done just that.**

**Enjoy.**

**Yours Insanely,**

**{E|L|L}**

* * *

In all his years as a hunter, Sam had never seen anything like it. How was this even possible?

" Uh, Dean? You might want to see this."

"What now, Samantha?" The elder Winchester snapped grumpily from the other room, but came to have a look anyway.  
He stopped. Gaped. Rubbed his eyes to look again.

" Am I seeing things?..."

The room which had previously housed the latest dick with wings to pop up was empty except for them; the ring of Holy fire, all but extinguished. Dean's brow furrowed in disbelief, taking in the amount of empty water bottles littered on the floor.

" Damn it... Those sons-of-bitches are getting smarter."


	5. Soul Reaping Order

**Based on a certain English Speaking Assessment myself and Hat acted out last term. I was the demon, and she was the angel; yes, this is the actual script xD**

**The provenance of this assignment was for it to be related - however closely or loosely we wished - to the rather disturbing poem, Porphyria's Lover, in which a man strangles his lover so as to keep her with him forever. It is implied that she was having an affair with him, which would have been a scandalous, unforgivable act for a woman in that time. **

**The angel has simply been christened Uriel, and the demon has been christened Crowley; their characters seemed to fit best ;D**

**Definitely a crack fic. Do not expect it to make sense in any shape or form; it was not made for the SPN verse. I uploaded it because Hat wanted me to.**

**Enjoy.**

**Yours Insanely,**

**{E|L|L}**

* * *

[[ It was a dark, wet night. Thunder roared, and lightning flashed overhead, briefly illuminating a small, unassuming cottage.

The cottage where, a mere ten minutes ago, a man had strangled his lover in order to keep her with him forever. Now, that man had divine justice to answer to. The angel reached up to knock on the door; however, another flash of lightning revealed that he wasn't alone. The angel jerked back in surprise, and the demon also did a double-take. ]]

Uriel: *hastily collects himself* What are you doing here?

[[ Demon narrows his eyes. ]]

Crowley: What do you mean, what am I doing here? What are you doing here? God didn't say anything, remember? *melodramatically * No telephone calls, no emails; no special fax messages from Jesus!

[[ Angel rolls eyes at melodrama, shows Smiting order with a superior flourish ]]

Uriel: I have been sent here, by the Lord Almight himself, to - *pauses, snatches back order to give quick overview, quotes* to 'guide this wretched soul to Heaven to receive judgement, as He and His son are currently occupied with organising the * is mimicked mockingly by demon * _next great plague. _Now what are you doing here?

Crowley: *snorts derisively* Hah! I've been sent here by the archangel Lucifer *slaps own Order against cottage door for emphasis, letting angel snatch it up and examine * to nab this son of a bitch and drag him down to the torturous eternity he deserves.

Uriel: *stares accusingly* So I suppose the weather here is your fault.

Crowley: *casually snatches back Order, smirks* Naturally. Oh, forgot to bring an umbrella, did you? Shame.

Uriel: *snaps* Silence, demon scum! *steps closer* What has this man done, exactly, to deserve time on the rack?

Crowley: *sneers* Oh, gee, darling, let me think... What, you cloud-hoppers don't consider strangling your lover with her own hair to be a bad thing? That's murder, and murder's a sin, so he's coming back with me!

Uriel: Yet a man capable of love - * interrupted by demon's fake retching, before glaring and stubbornly continuing * isn't all bad; is not the definition of evil ' to be without love ' ? He only wanted her to be with him forever!

Crowley: He's a blooming psychopath and he needs his ass kicked!

Uriel: *frowns* Actually, the word ' psychopath ' refers to a person who is void of all empathy -

Crowley: *cuts angel off * Well he certainly wasn't very empathetic in thinking she might not want to be strangled!

Uriel: *presses on, stubbornly* He was capable of emotion - he loved her -

Crowley: *cuts off again* Like Lucifer loved God?

Uriel: - and she was the one breaking one of the ten commandments in having an affair -

Crowley: Is MURDER not a tad bit more important of a commandment to break? Muppet!

Uriel: * takes on superior tone * Murder is simply ending a person's life a tad earlier than they may have preferred; he was also saving her from the emotional torment of later life by sending her to eternal rest. *pauses for emphasis* And, he was a Christian!

Crowley: *stares, disbelieving* Oh, because that makes everything better, doesn't it! There are plenty of peace-loving, non lover-strangling Hindus and Buddhists out there, but OH NO! They're just not GOOD ENOUGH for the blessed kingdom of God! You're all such hypocrites! In case you haven't read human law recently * flicks through small notebook labelled Human Law, points out small print to angel * it is illegal to kill somebody. At all. And most of our souls in etrenal punishment are murderers anyway, so as for that ' murder isn't bad ' crap - how are you still in Heaven?

Uriel: The politics of Heaven have got nothing to do with this! Orders are given, orders are carried out. At least the poor chap will get a fair trial with us, rather than suffer in your fiery-walled pit of darkness!

Crowley: *sniffs, mildly offended* Excuse me, but it's not actually that dark any more. The ' burning flame ' trend got a little old, so we switched to ocean blue wallpaper, with groovy lava lamps for desks. Think of the Underworld, under water! isn't it fitting?

Uriel: *thoughtfully* Yes, I agree that ocean blue is rather a lovely shade; perhaps Satan has some taste after all - but that's ENTIRELY IRRELEVANT! We are here to discuss the fate of this man, NOT the fate of Hell's new decorator! * pauses, confused * Wait, you guys have a decorator?

Crowley: *waves a hand, dismissive* Nah, we stole your one a few months back., Now, if you'll excuse me... * pushes angel aside *

Uriel: *gasps in shock* So THAT'S where Rodriguez went! He was supposed to paint my bedroom! THIEF! THIEF!

[[ And thus, both demon and angel ended up slugging it out on the doorstep, whilst the condemned man inside sat with his deceased lover in belief that ' God has not said a word ' and that he'd got away with it. ]]


End file.
